


Ty's Very Bad Time

by mawtext



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Blood, Nightmares, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-08 00:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14682543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mawtext/pseuds/mawtext
Summary: Tyler isn't strong enough.





	Ty's Very Bad Time

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a short little ditty i wrote because i liked the idea of putting tyler in a situation where he's helpless

          In,  
Out.  
          In,  
Out.  
          In,  
Out.

  
Breathing feels like dragging sandpaper against the inside of his throat. Blood flows from his nose like a dark red river, flies from his mouth and hits the sand like splattered paint. Every inch of his body burns. Pain flares up in any body part named, especially those that move. Especially the legs that carry him forward despite cracked ribs, a broken nose, loose teeth, missing teeth.

He lets out a shout, a “hey” that’s more of a garbled cry, distorted by the blood filling his mouth and the effort it takes to force the word out. He keeps limping, limping, limping toward the figure, the person, if it can be called that. Urging himself to go faster, faster, move those fucking legs it’s so close to her, so close it can also touch her, so close it can-- He lets out a scream, pained, angry, suffering, furious, trying to force himself to run, to move faster, to ignore the flames of agony that lick at him with every step, only to end up on the ground with a mouth full of sand.

He lifts his head up, pushes his torso up with an arm, just barely, only managing to get him a position that hurts to hold slightly less than others. Spits out the sand. Sends his gaze toward the figure, which now has a hold of T, his oldest friend, buddies since birth, the one person who really gets him. His heart is racing, pounding like a jackhammer against his chest, and he’s finding it harder and harder to breathe.

They’re kicking and screaming and trying to escape but the thing is so much bigger than them, so much stronger, carrying them like it’s nothing, lifting them up into the air by one arm and--

Everything slows down as he sees them spin, watches thrm go around and around like a merry-go-round, flung as easily as a wet towel. Doesn’t sound like one, though. Wet towels don’t hit the ground with a sickening crunch, a foul crack. Doesn’t look like one, either. Just a blue-haired dummy. A doll for this thing to play with, to treat as a toddler would a Barbie.

It doesn’t quite click. Tyler can’t wrap his head around what he’s seeing, but he knows it isn’t good. He knows it isn’t right. But he can’t quite process it. After all, that’s T. That’s his best friend. They would never leave him, right? They’re stronger than that thing. They’re just messing around. Waiting for an opportunity to strike, just biding their time.

It’s the fourth hit that does it. They hit the ground and suddenly their body is bouncing, rolling away. The thing looks down at the arm still in its hand. The arm, no longer connected to T’s body. It’s almost as if some wave rolls over Tyler, some shitty tsunami of understanding.

And he screams. He hears it over the blood rushing in his ears, over the hammering car engine of his heart, over any other noise. It’s all he hears. It cracks, and breaks, in places, and tears begin to roll, to stream from his eyes and down his cheeks, dripping off his nose, his chin. He pours everything he has into that scream. His hatred. His anger. His sadness. It all fills his lungs and pushes out in a furious cry.

When he’s done, his head hits the sand with a dull thud, a rock. He sobs. Each inhale and exhale hurts more than any stunt he’s ever pulled, any fight he’s gotten into. They’re gone, forever, for good. Taken from him because he wasn’t good enough. Because he couldn’t save them. Because he couldn’t get himself up onto his feet to so much as carry him toward them. He realizes, as the ground shakes more with every thunderous footstep approaching, that this is all his fault. As per usual.

**Author's Note:**

> tagging is still hard for these really short pieces


End file.
